


After the Hunt

by heartstone



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood, M/M, Wolves, heavily implied sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 20:17:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21398050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstone/pseuds/heartstone
Summary: It pleased Him greatly to know that He had ruined Mairon's Valar-imposed modesty.***
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	After the Hunt

The Vala reclined, pleased, His grin raptorial both in its lustful curve and its display of many sharp teeth. He had a halo of brilliant white suffocated on all sides by an unlight deeper than the abyss, an event horizon that trembled as it became swollen with light, pulsing as its singularity enlarged and yet hungered for more. He leaned further against the thick fur of the wolf He was reclined against, the vast chasms of His sly eyes absorbing the scene before Him. His skin flushed, a deluge of blood under the surface of pale pearl bruised by a whisper of heather and mists of icy blue. He purred, a low rumble inaudible but which trembled in the air, and He licked the dry flakes of blood from His lips.

He lay nude in His accustomed form as one of the Firstborn, cushioned in snow and sheltered by evergreens. About Him was the lazy watch of many wolves as they guarded the carcass of a massive elk, bloodied and cleaned of entrails but still picked at by the lower-ranking pups. The night before came back suddenly to Melkor- the intoxication of a hunt. He shuddered, recalling the fear of the elk when it realized it was surrounded and the frenzy of the pack as its hunger was climaxed only by the adrenaline that ran potent through their bodies, tensing every muscle and heightening every sense until the forest become one painfully intense stimuli and their bodies became like a single nerve. The sound and feel of the cold wind had whipped past them, submerging them in a thousand pricks of cold needles, making them raw to each turn through the clustered trunks until the night-song of the yelping wolves proudly announced their hard-earned kill.

Melkor growled in pleasure again, and the wolves around Him perked their ears and whined in answer, bowing their heads in reverence. The Vala did not take notice- the hunt was nothing new to Him, and the wolves always gave Him their respect whether gorged with food or no. But it had been the Maia’s first hunt, and He would hope it thrilled the flame-spirit just as He thought it would.

Mairon lay draped atop him, his mane of cinnabar rust and garnet tangled and thick, his body feverish against the Vala’s body of cold, unyielding stone. Their limbs were entangled, and Melkor could feel the firm press of his thigh against His groin and the movement of his chest as he breathed, deep and even and content. The Maia’s nails had remained claw-like despite his human-shape and they dug into His arm where one of them clung, and His hip under the other. He suddenly became hyper-aware of those nails, sinking possessively into His flesh like _He_ was the elk. Desire enflamed Him and He moaned softly, both from the physical exhaustion of His sore muscles and aching senses and from the weight of the scorching Maia on top of Him, unkempt and debauched.

A soft moan rumbled His chest again, and the Maia, disturbed from his slumber, looked up slowly from his cushion of the Vala’s chest, eyes blurry with sleep and still without recall of the previous night. His eyes remained slitted, piercing and baleful, pools of hazy saffron that flared with sparks of bronze and blazing red. Melkor only gave him a moment to clear the fog of unconsciousness before He tangled His fingers into his hair, pulling the locks at their roots and using His hips to flip them over. The Maia hissed, melting the snow slowly so that rivulets of water carved valleys into the dunes around them. The wolf Melkor had reclined against stretched and trotted away to have her morning meal.

The Vala smiled, burying His nose into the soft hollow of Mairon’s neck, feeling the erratic pulse that quivered under his flesh. He bit there gently and sucked, and the Maia stopped squirming under him, gripping onto Him now instead to draw Him closer. Melkor smiled against his neck, letting His teeth rasp against his pulse again and inhaling the heady scent of sweat and the fainter echoes of cinnamon and iron and smoke. The Maia’s slender arms encircled His shoulders and his legs pressed against Melkor’s own which bracketed them, spreading eagerly as wide he could. Melkor groaned at the Maia’s boldness and it pleased Him greatly to know that He had ruined his Valar-imposed modesty.

Melkor pulled back slightly, just enough to look the Maia in the eyes. They burned like blood-garnets and left ashes on his cheeks, and Melkor smiled at the stain of red still on his lips.

The wolves around them left one by one, patrolling the forest not far from their kill until the sounds of whimpering and moaning stopped and the silence told them they could get their lunch.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel dirty but I think Oromë would be proud.  
***


End file.
